


Chamomile for his Tiger

by pocketsebastian



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Feels, Pre Reichenbach, Reichenbach, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsebastian/pseuds/pocketsebastian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim doesn't make tea. Ever. He drinks tea, yes. But he never makes it himself. Sebastian has reason to suspect the cup that awaits him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chamomile for his Tiger

**Author's Note:**

> Another request on Tumblr. This time: Jim/Sebastian, tea.

Squaring his shoulders, Sebastian eyed the tea Jim had made. Jim never made tea. Never. Not when Sebastian was sick. Not when Jim was sick. Not when Jim genuinely wanted a cup. Something was off. And Sebastian didn’t like it.

“‘m not drinking this, Boss,” Sebastian finally said, breaking the five minute silence that had fallen, before he pushed the saucer and cup away from himself. Jim sat in front of him in his chair, a coffee table separating the two men. At the declaration, Jim gave a whine and leaned back in his chair, studying the colonel with hard eyes, despite the childish whine.

“Bastian, really? It’s a cup of tea. I didn’t poison it. I didn’t lace it with anything. It is a harmless cup of chamomile. Do drink it. You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” sighed Jim, his tone bored as per usual but underlined with a hint of annoyance at the man’s wariness.

But Sebastian never reached for the cup, only stared at the man he called boss. The two sat in silence for what felt like hours (although any amount of time spent with Jim Moriarty felt like hours) but had to have been no less than ten minutes. Finally, Sebastian stood up and left the room, his boots clunking against the floor.

Neither Jim nor Sebastian spoke the next day, other than the few clipped words that they exchanged during their job.

It wasn’t until Sebastian had to go up to St. Bart’s rooftop that night that he realized the cup of tea the night before had been an apology, in Jim’s own way.

**Author's Note:**

> Awful ending, I know, but I couldn't figure out how to end it.


End file.
